This changed things. “Does it matter what kinda shape he’s in,” P. D. asked, “long as he’s breathin’?”
“Just as long as he can understand what’s happening to him,” Mathis replied. “When can you get started?”
“As soon as I get that five hundred,” she replied.
Mathis got up from his chair. “The money is in the hotel safe. If you could go with me . . .” The picture of the swarthy-looking woman accompanying him back to the hotel came to his mind then. “Or I could just go and get the money, and bring it back here.”
“Arlo can go with you, and you can give it to him,” P. D. said, much to his relief.
“Fine, we’ll do that,” Mathis said. “I’ll also give him a card with instructions on how to telegraph me.” He stood back while she got to her feet. “I hope I’ll be hearing from you soon.”
“We’ll be headin’ out in the mornin’ for Fort Laramie,” she said. “I figure that’s the best place to start.”
He took one last look at her before departing, wondering if he was about to throw five hundred dollars away. As if she could read his thoughts, she gave him a broad, gap-toothed smile as reassurance. Dressed in men’s clothing and knee-high boots, she presented a solid picture that would remain vivid in his mind. With a .44 revolver strapped around her ample girth and a rawhide horse whip in her hand, she stood watching confidently as he and Arlo walked out the door. Behind her, her other two sons remained seated, watching them depart, like two young vultures waiting in the nest for mama to return with food.
* * *
Heading due north out of Cheyenne, P. D. led her three sons toward Fort Laramie. It figured to take two full days’ ride, so she departed the town at sunup. Arlo, her eldest, rode directly behind his mother, with Wiley directly behind him. Bo lagged farther behind, still grousing to himself about having to arise so early. Of the three Wildmoon men, Bo was the maverick, a role he seemed to enjoy.
Hoping to gain information on the whereabouts of Matt Slaughter, P. D. was disappointed upon reaching Fort Laramie. Figuring that the post trader’s store was the most likely place to get information on her prey, the sutler’s was the first stop.
Seth Ward glanced up when the four entered his store. He paused to take a longer look before greeting them. “Well, P. D. Wildmoon,” he finally acknowledged, with no hint of cordiality. “I ain’t seen you and your boys around here for a spell.”
“Reckon not,” P. D. responded.
“What poor soul is unlucky enough to have you on his trail?”
P. D. smiled, pleased to have a reputation precede her, and indifferent to the fact that it was one without respect. She ignored Seth’s sarcastic tone. “I’m lookin’ for a feller name of Matt Slaughter,” she replied. “Know him?”
Seth paused for a long moment before answering. He knew Matt Slaughter, counted him as a friend, and even if he didn’t, he would be reluctant to give the likes of P. D. Wildmoon any information that would help her find him. After a few more moments of silence, he answered, “I know him. A lot of folks around here know him, but he’s long gone from these parts.”
“I expect I know that,” P. D. replied, “but I figured you might know where he headed when he left Fort Laramie.”
“Hell, who knows? He didn’t exactly leave no forwardin’ address,” Seth snorted. “Why don’t you go ask at the post adjutant’s office? They’re the folks who let him get away.”
P. D. didn’t reply at once, responding only with a sarcastic smile. He knew the army had no liking for P. D. and her kind. She was well aware of the fact. “I don’t expect I’d get much help from them soldier boys,” she said. “I figured you might tell me more about him.” She waited for a few seconds for his reply. When he merely shrugged his shoulders, she added, “We’re just doin’ a job. The man’s wanted in Virginia for murder.”
“Yeah, that’s what they say,” Seth replied, “but I ain’t so sure.” He shrugged again. “Anyway, it was a while ago he left here. I don’t expect he’s anywhere in this part of the country.” Seth had known Matt Slaughter for a brief time, but in that time he had come to believe that the Matt Slaughter he knew could not have shot someone down in cold blood unless the shooting was justified.
P. D. was not willing to accept it at that. She had a suspicion that the post trader knew more than he was willing to share. She glanced behind her at her three sons, standing idly by like so many dumb cows in a pasture. “We’re gonna find him. It’s just a matter of when.” Seeing that she was wasting her time with Seth, she tilted her head toward the door. “Let’s go, boys. Can’t ever’body on this post be a friend of that murderin’ son of a bitch.”
P. D. lingered in the store only long enough to let her boys have a glass of beer. Leaving the sutler’s, she next went to the post stables to inquire about the possibility of leaving the horses there overnight. Informed at the stables that they had no arrangements for boarding civilian horses, she asked if there was a stable that did. A young private on stable duty walked outside with her to point out the direction to a stable in the nearby settlement.
“You fellers just passin’ through?” Private Adams asked, making conversation and, like most everyone else, not realizing P. D. was a woman.
“That’s a fact,” P. D. answered. “We’re tryin’ to find a cousin of mine from back east. All we know is he passed this way.”
“Is that so?” Adams replied. “What was his name?”
“Slaughter,” P. D. answered. “Matt Slaughter. He was my sister’s oldest boy, and we’d dearly love to find him.” There was a noticeable widening of the soldier’s eyes, so she asked, “Did you know him?”
“I didn’t rightly know him, but I heard about him. Hell, ever’body did.” Adams hesitated then, uncertain if he should say more, since these folks claimed to be kin of Slaughter’s. He glanced up at the three men sitting their saddles, all looking back at him with identical blank stares.
Sensing his hesitation, P. D. sought to encourage him to go on. “Ever’body in the family knows about Cousin Matt’s wild ways. Why, I believe I heard that he was under guard here, but busted out.” She shook her head, seeming to laugh at the picture forming in her mind. “He always was a wild one, that Matt.” She glanced up in time to catch Wiley about to say something. She cut him off with a frown and a shake of her head.
Private Adams grinned then. “I reckon so,” he said. “They had a guard on him in the hospital, but he broke out. Lieutenant O’Connor caught him right here at the stables. He thought he had him cornered. Slaughter and Zeb Benson rode off and left O’Connor hangin’ in a tree back of the stables.” Adams had a good chuckle as he thought about the lieutenant dangling from a tree limb.
“That sounds like somethin’ ol’ Slaughter would do, all right,” P. D. said, joining in the laughter. “Reckon where he headed when he left here?”
“Virginia City, most likely,” Adams said. “Folks that knew him said him and Zeb talked about them mountains beyond the Big Horns all the time.”
* * *
P. D. and her sons rode out of Fort Laramie early the next morning, heading for Virginia City. Several attempts to gain additional information regarding the whereabouts of Matt Slaughter had been met with little success the night before. Private Adams had been the only one who even speculated where the fugitive might have gone. After giving it some thought, P. D. decided that it was a fifty-fifty shot that Adams might have guessed correctly. Virginia City was a reasonable place to look for an outlaw on the run. She would have preferred odds better than fifty-fifty, but she figured she had to start searching somewhere. Why not Virginia City? Her decision made, the main concern to be dealt with was the Sioux Indians. The recent government parlay with Red Cloud and his allies, the Cheyenne, had met with failure, and the Sioux leader had stormed out of the peace talks vowing to kill any white men trying to travel the Bozeman Trail across Sioux hunting grounds. While P. D. was confident she and her boys, all with repeating rifles, could handle
a small hunting party, she was not willing to risk an encounter with a sizable war party. With that in mind, the Wildmoon family took a trail leading northwest along the North Platte, figuring to strike the Sweetwater and South Pass. It promised to be a hard ride to Virginia City, and the long way around, but there was a sizable payday at the other end.
Chapter 2
Hoping to make the trip to Virginia City in little more than two weeks’ time, the bounty hunters rode free of trouble until skirting the southern end of the Big Horn Mountains. Crossing over wide-open prairies with rolling hills for most of that day, they were glad to see a small stream in the distance. After fifteen minutes or more, they entered the trees that lined the stream and let the horses drink. After horses and riders had their fill of the cool water, they were in the saddle again with Arlo taking the lead. He had not cleared the line of cottonwoods on the west side of the little stream when he suddenly pulled his horse to a stop. “Ma!” he called out, and pointed toward a long ridge on the northern slope of the valley.
P. D. pulled her horse up beside Arlo’s. “Damn!” she uttered as she looked toward the ridge. “I wonder how long they’ve been watchin’ us.” Sitting impassively on the brow of the ridge, a line of thirty or more Sioux warriors watched the progress of the four white riders as they followed the valley west.
“What do you reckon they want?” Wiley asked.
Bo, never hesitating to remind his younger brother that he was the simpleminded member of the family, answered him, “Now what the hell do you think they want, dummy? They want that pretty head of hair you’re wearin’.”
“What they want is these rifles we’re carryin’,” P. D. said as she quickly surveyed the terrain around them. Looking directly ahead, she picked her spot. “I expect they’re waitin’ for us to come out in the open after we cross the stream.” She pointed toward a pocket of trees near the base of the western slope. “If we can get to that bunch of pines on the other side of the clearin’, we oughta be able to hold ’em off—maybe run ’em off for good if we can cut down a few of ’em.” She pushed her horse up ahead of Arlo’s. “You boys follow me. We’ll take it nice and easy till we get clear of these trees. Then ride like hell for that pocket over yonder.”
High on the ridge that formed the northern side of the valley, the Sioux war party waited, watching the trees for sign of the white men. Spotting a rider about to emerge into the open, then stop, Iron Claw, leader of the war party, signaled his warriors to wait. When the four white riders suddenly charged out of the trees at full gallop, he knew his warriors had been spotted. “After them,” he shouted. Sweeping down the slope, the war party drove its ponies hard to cut off the white trespassers’ escape.
It was a race, but P. D. and her sons managed to gain the angle on their pursuers and capture a sizable lead. Whipping her horse, calling for all the stallion could give her, P. D. rode low on his neck, calling out encouragement to her sons behind her. Seeing that they had lost their advantage, Iron Claw’s warriors began shooting at the fleeing four, but to no avail. P. D. and her boys reached the safety of the pocket with lead flying harmlessly in the trees around them. While Bo and Wiley led the horses back into the trees where they would be safe, P. D. and Arlo took cover in a gully at the edge and began to return fire.
“By God, that slowed ’em down,” P. D. exclaimed as she laid her front sight on a warrior riding a white pony and knocked him off the horse. Equally adept with a rifle, Arlo accounted for another warrior down. Wiley and Bo scrambled up beside them, their rifles searching for targets.
With two warriors killed, Iron Claw called his war party back out of range. Furious at having let the white men gain the cover of the wooded pocket, he drew back to decide on another plan. Two dead was already a higher price than he had intended to pay. With the rifle fire now coming from the gully, it was confirmed that all four had repeating rifles, and he was determined to have the weapons. “They have closed themselves up in a trap,” Iron Claw said to one of his warriors, a man called Yellow Horn. “I’ll take half the warriors and cross over the ridge, then circle above them on the slope. The rest of you can use the cover of the stream bank to work your way down in close to that gully.”
Yellow Horn agreed. He could see that Iron Claw would be able to shoot down from above the white men and drive them out in the open, where they would be picked off by him and the others.
Back in the shallow depression that served as their protection, P. D. had much the same thought. “Bo,” she called out, “get on back there and see what kinda hole we landed in. Them devils might be able to get up behind us.”
Bo did as he was told, crawling away from the gully and disappearing in the trees where the horses were tied. After a quarter of an hour, he returned to report. “We ain’t in too good a spot. If they’re smart enough to get up on that slope above us, they can make it pretty damn hot for us.”
“Damn,” P. D. swore. “I was afraid of that. Maybe they won’t think of that.”
“Ma,” Wiley called out, “they’re sneakin’ down the crick, tryin’ to get closer.”
P. D. turned back to take a look for herself. Then she fired a couple of shots at a glimpse of buckskin, her bullets kicking up dirt on the stream bank. As near as she could tell, the war party didn’t seem as big as before. “They’ve already split up,” she decided. “Arlo, you and Bo drop back and find you a place to watch that slope behind us.”
There was nothing they could do but wait until the Sioux made some move toward their position. Using the stream bank as cover, the warriors offered no opportunity for P. D. and Wiley to pick a target. “You boys keep your eyes peeled back there,” P. D. yelled over her shoulder. More than a little angry at her poor choice of defensive positions, she was determined to make the assault costly for the Indians. In her own defense, she had to admit that there had been few choices in the short amount of time she was allotted to choose. “Make every shot count,” she said to Wiley.
“If they ever give me somethin’ to shoot at,” Wiley complained in reply.
“They will,” P. D. said. “They’re just waitin’ for the rest of their crowd to get above us.”
To confirm P. D.’s prediction, several minutes later the short period of silence was blasted by a sudden barrage of rifle fire from the slope behind them. “Here they come!” P. D. exclaimed as Arlo and Bo opened up with their weapons. But Yellow Horn and his warriors remained concealed behind the banks of the stream. Behind her, the sound of a heavy exchange of shots told her that Arlo and Bo had their hands full. Worried that they might be overrun, and puzzled by the lack of fire from the Sioux at the stream, she sent Wiley back to help his brothers. “I can cut anybody down that shows his ass over that bank,” she assured him.
It soon became apparent to P. D. why the warriors in the stream had remained quiet, as she spotted the appearance of a rifle barrel here and there. The Indians had been busy digging out firing pits. Within a few minutes after Wiley had retreated to help his brothers, the warriors before her began to deliver fire in her direction, kicking up dirt and gravel on either side of her. It was apparent that they did not have her position pinpointed, and she knew that as soon as she returned fire, they would have. “Well, this ol’ gal is smarter’n that,” she mumbled. Raising up slightly, she cranked out four quick shots, spraying the bank, then ducked down and scrambled several yards to her left. As she expected, the spot she had fired from was immediately peppered with rifle balls. She soon realized that the best she could expect to do was to hold them at bay, for it appeared they were not going to risk an all-out charge across the clearing.
On the slope behind her, the battle continued with no sign of letup from the attacking warriors. However, the momentum was gradually being gained by Iron Claw’s warriors. “Gawdam!” Bo exclaimed when a rifle ball tore the bark off the tree trunk a scant few inches above his head. Lying as flat as he could manage, he pushed himself backward, looking for a better spot. Glancing to his right, he tried to see
where Arlo was, realizing then that both Arlo and Wiley had already been forced back to find safer positions. “Arlo!” he called out.
“Over here!” his brother called back, some ten yards below him in the trees.
“You bastard,” Bo yelled. “Why didn’t you tell me you was droppin’ back? Leavin’ me here to hold ’em off by myself.” Without further comment, he rolled over and, half crawling, half running, scrambled down the slope to join his brother. “Where’s Wiley?” he blurted upon settling behind a pine trunk beside Arlo.
“Over here,” Wiley answered, lying behind a small boulder a dozen yards to Arlo’s right.
“You hit anythin’?” Arlo asked anxiously.
“Shit no,” Bo came back. “The son of a bitches don’t never show theirselves.”
The three brothers tried to hold where they were but, as before, the hostile fire soon became too hot around them, forcing them back down to the bottom of the slope, almost backing up to P. D. Still trying to get a clear shot at one of the warriors in the stream, P. D. was alarmed to discover her sons had been pushed back from the slope. For the first time, she realized that there might not be a way out of the trap she had ridden into. It was obvious that the Sioux plan was to push the four of them out in the open where they would be easily cut down by the warriors by the stream. Fighting off a rage that was building up inside her, she was forced to concede defeat, furious that she was to cash in this way—cut down by a bunch of wild Indians. There was no choice but to take as many with her as possible. “Boys,” she called back, her voice solemn as a preacher’s, “you’ve got to hunker down and don’t let ’em push you any further back down the mountain. If we let ’em drive us out in the open we’re goners, sure as hell.” The three young men took what cover they could, but were still trying to shoot at targets they could not see.
* * *
Vengeance Moon Page 2